


Magnets and Miracles  (Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young)

by letosatie



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sailing was the best part of working for Mr Lehnsherr.  Raven loved the rush of their momentum against the wind, when they caught a gust and used it to eat the distance between land and the illimitable horizon.  Charles had his head tipped back, eyes closed, reveling in the fingers of breeze playing across his flushed cheek, his freckled nose.  </p><p>Raven had grown up and she intended to rescue Charles.  It was the least she could do, actually, since it was her fault he was broken. </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Raven takes Charles sailing but forgets to watch for sharks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnets and Miracles  (Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from High Hopes by Pink Floyd.

The wind pushed them out to open sea. Raven looked back over the stern of the small yacht, toward land; they were still just within the heads but had left the Clubrooms far behind in the seat of the bay. She sat up proudly at the tiller. Normally, Mr Lehnsherr sat here, in control, and calmly rumbled instructions in his low stern voice. Today, Raven was responsible for the boat and her precious cargo. Charles was seated in the bow, under the jib sail, so he only had to duck rather than switch sides when they came about. He couldn’t move so easily anymore. 

He was watching her and smiled, which made her beam and sit up even straighter. It was Charles’ first trip down to see her and, thank God, cranky Mr Lehnsherr hadn’t offended him like he did everyone else. So far. She’d only introduced them this morning; give her querulous boss time.

Sailing was the best part of working for Mr Lehnsherr. Raven loved the rush of their momentum against the wind, when they caught a gust and used it to eat the distance between land and the illimitable horizon. The day was perfect. White dotted skies, with a breeze festive enough to make the boat skip across the waves, but warm enough to pat rather than bite Raven’s skin, and, more importantly, her brother’s. 

When Raven was tiny, the Xaviers came through her orphanage for a dedication ceremony. Charles had clung to her, tears slicking his baby round cheeks, until his parents relented and brought her home, as if she were a puppy from the pound or a toy truck from FAO Schwartz. Perhaps, if he hadn’t begged, she’d have one day gone to a less distant, more functional family. Instead, she had Charles, who earnestly applied sticking plasters and read bed time stories, who checked her homework and over enthusiastically vetted her dates, with a really difficult written quiz, and who told her every day how much he’d wanted to bring her home. She’d never have traded him.

He had rescued her; she had no doubt.

Charles had his head tipped back, eyes closed, reveling in the fingers of breeze playing across his flushed cheek, his freckled nose. Raven checked the luffs and then went back to minding Charles. Raven had grown up and she intended to rescue him back. 

It was the least she could do, actually, since it was her fault he was broken. 

Raven called to go about and pushed the tiller away from her, scrambling across the width of the stern for the tack. She watched Mr Lehnsherr, forward near the mast, smoothly sink under the boom, reseating himself on the starboard side and cleating the jib sheet. Raven trimmed the main sail, adjusting it until the wind picked them up again and they were dancing across the waves.

If only she could erase the frequent fights of the month before she came here. Raven wanted to stretch her wings; Charles wanted her to be safe. She knew letting her go broke his heart, because hers was still a little cracked and leaky too. 

If only she could erase the day she left. He’d said something patronizing to her, God, she couldn’t even remember what, that’s how little it mattered, how much she’d over reacted. She’d marched out with her suitcase.

He’d apparently run after her to make up, to say good bye, to love her unprompted one more time, when he’d tripped, flailed for a handhold and pulled the wrong thing on top of him. She couldn’t imagine how it went so badly, but it played out different ways in her head all the time.

Worst of all, he hadn’t even told her. With his arrogance intact, he went through months of recovery, refusing to call her and disrupt her new life. When she finally cooled down enough to call, it was too late. He’d faced the worst of it alone.

The sound of Charles’ laughter was tossed down the boat to Raven, a real, unfettered laugh. God, she’d missed it.

Then, there was a wheezy rumble. What was that? Raven checked the centre board. No, not that. Oh, that was Mr Lehnsherr laughing. Raven had worked for him for years and could count on one hand the times she’d heard that sound. There it was again.

The jib was ruffling.

“Mr Lehnsherr, could you trim the jibsail please?”

“Of course, Raven,” he said, did so and, then, leaned forward toward Charles again. 

Charles must have been talking his ear off. Raven had never before needed to call Mr Lehnsherr’s focus back to the job at hand. Her brother did go on about things, but he had the biggest heart in the universe, wrapped up in arrogance and nerdy clothing. Raven had tried, in vain, to cut his hair, discard his cardigans and halt his incessant lip biting to counteract the ridiculous redness of his mouth. Raven was certain this was off putting to girls. 

Raven called about again, and tacked toward the shore. They weren’t racing, just a soft cruise to spoil Charles, another way to love him back to life. And Raven wanted Charles to see her adopted world: shifting dunes, red tipped grasses, water like pale steel. She wanted him to forgive her for leaving.

She watched him smiling at Mr Lehnsherr and figured it was working. His blue eyes were alight and his shoulders relaxed, instead of the stiff, held together frame he kept nowadays.

To everyone else, Charles looked unchanged, bar the wheelchair. He was coping well, he’d just published again, he was healthy, strong and commanding. He was making Mr Lehnsherr laugh and that was difficult, if not impossible.

But Raven missed her silly brother, the lighthearted, whimsical man, who flirted with every passing skirt and never lamented a rejection and never boasted of a score. She even wished he would resume teasing her or tell her one of his cringe worthy science puns.

The jib was ruffling, spitting out a frantic palpitation, a warning of the altered wind direction. Raven called, “Ready to gybe?” then, “Gybe-oh,” swinging the tiller. Charles and Mr Lehnsherr didn’t move.

She called out again, “Gybing!”

Charles ducked, and Mr Lehnsherr hurried to release the jibsheet from the cleat, but Raven had already turned the boat and his weight, still in the low side of the hull, tilted it drunkenly. The ocean surged over the side, sloshing opportunistically into the bottom of the boat. Mr Lehnsherr abandoned the jib and climbed the angled hull to even it out. He prevented a capsize, but Charles was already overbalanced and Raven watched with sick disbelief as he, again, flailed for something to cling to and grasped nothing, disappearing over the side as the boat righted.

“Charles!” Raven screamed.

“Gybe,” said Mr Lehnsherr, “it always turns a boat to an overboard man.” Then he ordered, “Stay with the boat,” and dove into the sea.

Raven attempted to gybe; the hull dipped dizzily. She stacked out, leaning out as far as she could on the raised edge of the craft to stall the slow tipping, but she wasn’t heavy enough and the yacht capsized.

The sea hit her. She wasn’t afraid of it, not for herself. As Raven’s face broke through the surface, into the sun and puffs of air, she glimpsed Mr Lehnsherr stroke through the swell, strong and sure as a shark.

Raven swam around the rudder to the centre board and climbed up, intending to right the boat by standing on it but, again, was not quite heavy enough. She climbed the hull and perched on the top of the disabled vessel, casting around for her brother and her boss. She sobbed, relieved, when she saw them near the beach. Mr Lehnsherr was swimming on his back, towing Charles, one arm clamped across his chest.

Raven tucked her chin into her life jacket and waited for the rescue boats. It was hard to tell from the distance, and with seawater dribbling past her vision, but it looked like Charles was alright. He and Mr Lehnsherr reached shore and her boss picked Charles up like the dune was a threshold.

Wait.

Raven pushed a sopping lock of hair out of her eyes and squinted. It looked like they were kissing.

Raven was frozen in place, one hand open as if reaching for something, probably a bucket to throw up in. Holy crap. They were kissing. Her brother and her boss.

Then Mr Lehnsherr lay Charles out on the sand and stretched out beside him and kissed him again.

‘Maybe, it’s mouth to mouth,’ she thought reasonably, as Mr Lehnsherr untied Charles’ life jacket.

No. Raven knew no version of CPR required kissing her brother’s nose, jaw and neck; and no unconscious victim twined their hands in their rescuer’s hair and arched a shoulder toward them.

Raven, stunned, turned to face the open sea and waited. The horizon was a calming view and much less likely to melt her retinas. 

Eventually, the fizzing motor of one of the rescue craft crescendoed and Raven waved.

Moira looked panicked at the helm. “Where’s Rescue Two?” she yelled, “Where’s Erik? Where’s your brother? Is he being rescued?”

Raven smiled and shot a glance at the two figures in the dunes. Mr Lehnsherr appeared to have lost his lifejacket and his shirt, and Charles’ hands were moving fervidly along his back. Their faces remained smushed together; in fact, they had everything pressed together, as if the sea persisted in threatening to cleave them apart.

“Yep,” she said, happily, “he’s being rescued.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still figuring out tags, so if you think I need to add something please say.


End file.
